


the fact that you’re alive is a miracle

by FortySevens



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: A Tiny Allusion Or Two To The Old Legends Canon, Aftermath of Vaguely Described Torture, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Featuring FortySevens’ Trademark Visits From Non-Traditional Force Ghosts, Female Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Jyn Erso Is A Loud And Proud Cat Lady, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Well This Got Super Domestic Super Quick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-04 23:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortySevens/pseuds/FortySevens
Summary: Five years after the destruction of the second Death Star, Leia Organa-Solo is heavily pregnant, but not too pregnant to travel. Due to that one incredibly specific distinction, she gets dragged halfway across the galaxy as part of her responsibilities as Minister of Defense for the New Republic. On an asteroid in the middle of nowhere, she discovers and—purely out of spite—unravels a web of lies and misinformation, all in the span of one unpleasant afternoon.And Force help her, Leia Organa-Solo is going to be the best farking fairy godmother the New Republic has ever kriffing seen.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> You guys. Guys. Seriously. This was supposed to be this short little thing about Jyn and Cassian reconnecting. 6k max. I don’t know how this happened.
> 
> Title from multiple times throughout the musical Hamilton, but specifically from Non-Stop, because that’s what I was listening to when it occurred to me that the line would make for a great fic title.
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 216  
> “It’s been so long. I’m probably not interested in him anymore.” 
> 
> “I’ve seen his Instagram, you’re definitely still interested.”

Inside Leia Organa-Solo’s swollen belly, Baby Boy Organa-Solo—the soon-to-be son of the forever Last Princess of Alderaan and current Minister of Defense of the New Republic—twists and turns in the limited space he has as he grows steadily toward full term. Leia presses back at the foot or hand or elbow that makes a small lump under the thin material of her tunic. The baby presses back, just to the side, and Leia shifts her fingers over it and taps back. He repeats, like it’s a game.

 

And maybe it is.

 

Luke always did say it was highly likely that the baby is Force sensitive, even with a man like Han for a father.

 

Or maybe it’s _especially_ even with a man like Han for a father. Luke was never entirely clear on that.

 

There are even times when Leia thinks she feels the baby, in that tiny corner of her mind that’s devoted to the little presence inside her, like she has for both her brother and her husband.

 

Something flickers out of the corner of her eye, and when Leia glances away from the little mound trying to press through her belly— _soon baby, soon_ , she often thinks, because while she isn’t quite ready to embark on the journey of being someone’s _mother_ , she is _quite ready_ to reach the point where she can deem herself _too pregnant to travel_ , even if it’s for the good of this young, New Republic.

 

That flicker happens again, and Leia finally looks up away from the impromptu game, smiles at the blue-lined specter staring intently at her rounded belly, one translucent hand resting on her own while the other strokes the bruises ringed around her neck, bruises that have not faded, even though it’s been nearly thirty years.

 

Nor will they, ever.

 

It took many, many months after the destruction of the second Death Star before Padmé Amidala revealed herself to either of her children, but her visits were not nearly as frequent as her wayward husband’s.

 

Padmé isn’t Leia’s mother—that honor belongs to Queen Breha Organa, and Padmé knows that as much as anyone—but Leia does like when she visits, if only to have the chance to get to know the woman who gave so much for the galaxy, and for her and for Luke. She certainly enjoys it more than when Anakin shows up.

 

She still has very, very little to say to him. Not after everything he did to the people she loves.

 

But ever since the new of Leia’s pregnancy broke, Padmé’s been visiting more than ever, especially these last few months. She’s always hovering just off the edge of whatever Leia’s doing, be it arguing with Han over breakfast, going to the OB recommended to her by Doctor Kalonia—who is busy running the intergalactic relief efforts that never seem to end—presiding over meetings about those relief efforts and the new government’s attempts to root out the last factions of the old, or just observing in the corner of the soon-to-be nursery while Leia ponders paint colors.

 

It goes very much unspoken, but Leia knows that at least part of the visits are because Padmé likes seeing a pregnancy that isn’t hidden from the world, isn’t shrouded with secrecy and pain like hers was.

 

Leia clears her throat as she shifts, and the sound bleeds into a low groan when the constantly-tight muscles in her back twinge in protest, which draws a sympathetic smile from Padmé, “Imagine trying to fit two in there, instead of one,” she says.

 

“Thank you very much, but certainly not,” Leia keeps her voice low, even though she’s alone in this corner of her diplomatic corvette.

 

There aren’t many people on the ship, but the last thing she wants is anyone thinking she enjoys talking to herself. Of course, they would probably also be the best time to get away with it, since anyone would probably just assume she’s talking to the baby, which she does anyway, but—

 

“Twins _do_ run in my side of the family, you know.”

 

She certainly does, even worked with her cousin Pooja when they were Junior Senators for Alderaan and Naboo, respectively, long before they knew they were related. Pooja is back on Naboo with the rest of the Naberrie family, including her own twins, and is serving as an advisor for the current queen.

 

“Hopefully-“ she breaks off, because she was about to hope that her children would take after her father’s side, at least concerning how many she’d have at once, but at the last second, she remembers that her father, in this case, would not to refer to Bail Organa, who was an only child from a long, long line of only children.

 

And her actual father is—well, no one really knows.

 

Nor does Leia particularly want to find out.

 

Padmé shakes her head glides through the room and settles on the padded bench next to Leia, “How is the orphanage?”

 

“Good, it’s good. I’m going to try to go by when I get home,” the baby moves again, and it feels like he’s flipping over, even though Leia knows that there’s not nearly enough room for him to do that anymore, and she groans at the sensation, presses her palm to the place on her side where either his head or his backside now rests. “I was going to go last week, but then Davits asked me to accompany him on this farking debrief.”

 

“It’s very important that you be here for this.”

 

A frown spreads across her face as Leia turns her head and takes Padmé in fully. She looks off into the distance in that way that Leia can only ascribe to those mysteries of the Force that she hasn’t had time to unravel with her duties to her government and to her husband—oh well, she can always ask Luke about it later, “Oh really? How so?”

 

“Force forbid I ruin it for you, Leia.”

 

“Don’t be like that.”

 

Padmé smiles in that way that never fails to bring peace to Leia, the way that reminds her that even after everything, Padmé is _okay_.

 

Well, she’s dead, so she could be better.

 

But she’s still not _worse_.

 

“I’m still not telling you. You’ll figure it out soon enough, my bright girl.”

 

Between one blink and the next, Padmé disappears—not abnormal in anyway way, but still more than a little unnerving—and in the vacant space she left behind, Leia’s datapad chimes.

 

Shaking her head to put out the latest strange exchange with her mother out of her mind for the moment, Leia finds a message on screen, clipped and to the point like they always are: _hi, hope you’re well, sorry your travel companion sucks, see you when you get home_.

 

She answers with a just as quick, _all is well, we’re almost there, spent some of the trip with Padmé, I’ll call you when I’m on my way back._

 

As the irregular sounds of footsteps echo down from the flight deck, Leia dims her datapad and rests it against her side, inclines her head at Draven when he turns the corner and drops to the bench across from her. He rests his cane against his knee, inclines his head back, “Nearly there,” he runs a hand through thin hair that’s more silver than red, the long history of the war reflected in every line and wrinkle on his face.

 

“Good,” she uses every bit of training from her days as a child on Alderaan to keep from fidgeting and signaling her boredom, her lack of desire to be on this mission, to be anywhere but at her home on Lake Sah’ot. “Remind me why we’ve got to go all the way out to the Outer Rim for this?”

 

His shoulder lifts, “Our agent was in the area and needed medical evaluation following extraction.”

 

The baby kicks again, and Leia winces and presses a hand to her side, “Your agent has incredibly inconvenient timing.”

 

“And yet he was instrumental in dismantling the multiple Imperial remnant cells that have been making a mess of things out here,” Draven replies, like her pregnancy is an afterthought. “We would certainly not be standing as firmly as we are as a New Republic without this agent’s efforts.”

 

Leia’s brows hike her hairline, because she spent most of the early parts of the trip going through Draven’s files on this Outer Rim situation—files which _failed_ to mention the actions of some soon-to-be named asset who has apparently spent years doing critical work for the New Republic, “Indeed,” she hums, because the last thing she needs is for him to think that she’s surprised. “That is good to know.”

 

—

Though Leia has no recollection of ever being on this tiny asteroid located almost beyond the furthest reaches of their known galaxy, the second she sets foot in the landing pad at the medical facility, she _knows_ she’s been here, can almost hear the tinny echo of small children crying, and she swallows had and presses a hand against her belly.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Padmé reappears for a moment and nods once, a sad smile on her face, before she disappears again.

 

This is Polis Massa.

 

This is where Padmé Amidala died.

 

Leia squares her shoulders and pushes on, follows Draven through the halls of the hospital and tries to ignore the way the Force _sings_ at her.

 

If she didn’t constantly feel like she’s the size of a _starwhale_ , she’d be wearing one of her white dresses, so people know that she means business and wants to get in and through with this nonsense of a debrief so she can get back to Chandrilla and await the arrival of her son in _peace_.

 

They’re greeted by one of the hospital’s administrators, and Leia can’t help but tune out the sycophantic fawning as her eyes flicker back and forth around the room, her free hand creeping to the small of her back where even now she still keeps a holdout blaster, because there’s something about the way the Force is singing that sets her on edge, even as Draven stands next to her, as relaxed as he ever is.

 

Which isn’t much.

 

The administrator leads them through a series of twisting halls, and if Leia encounters any of the doctors or nurses who were present at her birth, she is absolutely going to _lose her shit_.

 

Fortunately, they don’t come across very many beings, sentient or otherwise, as they’re led into a room that serves as an observation chamber for one of the private treatment areas.

 

There’s a large window that separates them from the patient being treated—their agent—and a pair of tall nurses stand with their backs to her and Draven, so she can’t see who they’re tending to until one of them moves to the side to grab something off a nearby tray.

 

And that’s when Leia’s heart stops.

 

Because through the window, she sees that the patient is none other than _Cassian Andor_.

 

Cassian Andor, one of the Heroes of Scarif and the Rebellion’s best spy.

 

Cassian Andor, who died five years ago.

 

—

Blindly, with her gaze still locked on the treatment room, Leia reaches out and curls her fingers around the window so hard her knuckles go white, because Cassian Andor is sitting on a medical bed a few feet away, _definitely not dead_ , because she knows how to recognize a Force ghost and he is certainly _not_ a Force ghost.

 

_Fark._

 

She presided over his _funeral_. Gave his _eulogy_. Filed his godsdamned KIA paperwork _and_ his posthumous Medal of Valor recognition.

 

But here’s Cassian Andor, sitting up and breathing and _alive_.

 

He’s thinner than Leia remembers, wearing loose, medical-issue scrubs that just hang off him, and one of his pant-legs rolled up to reveal the black casing of the artificial leg that replaced the one he lost after Scarif—the fall that Leia remembers him telling her about in fits and starts on a night after the Battle of Yavin, after she finally agreed to be treated for the injuries she sustained in Imperial custody. She received the surprise of her life when she was sequestered in a treatment room with two high-profile patients, previously nameless survivors of the initial infiltration that got their hands on the Death Star plans, who turned out to be Cassian and Jyn Erso, who spent the entire evening curled up on a cot in the corner of the room, burns on her shoulder and a brace around her dislocated knee.

 

One of the nurses runs a scanner over the scarred seam where his leg was removed below the knee, and it’s through a haze that Leia sees Cassian grimace and say something to them.

 

He must see them through the window because he looks up and nods in their direction, one hand lifting off the bed in a jerky sort of half-wave before the other nurse grabs his chin and tilts his head back the other way, so she can push his grown-out hair out of the way and tend to the haphazardly stitched laceration over his eyebrow.

 

When he shifts back to a position that doesn’t put as much strain on his neck—Leia does _not_ want to know where those finger-shaped bruises came from, feels sick enough as it is—she narrows her eyes at the lump that moves under his shirt. It’s not an injury, it’s something else.

 

Something she’s pretty sure she remembers seeing Jyn hang around Cassian’s neck before they parted ways for the separate missions that changed _everything_ about the war.

 

“Excuse me Davits,” she grits out through clenched teeth. “But why the hells have I been under the well-informed impression for _five years_ that the man in that room is dead?”

 

He sets his shoulders in a way that Leia _knows_ means he’s extremely uncomfortable, so this is probably going to get a _lot_ worse before they’re done on this godsforsaken asteroid, “We saw an opportunity and we took it, Ma’am.”

 

And he only ever calls her _Ma’am_ like that when he _knows_ he’s done something that makes her want to rip him a new asshole.

 

“Why would he _ever_ have agreed to do this?” She mutters, but Draven just turns and heads to the door that leads to Cassian’s treatment room, doesn’t answer her in a way that’s answer enough.

 

This is _not_ going to go well.

 

Tears gather in the corners of her eyes, and Leia knows they’re from the hormones raging through her body, so she takes a deep breath and wills them away. Un-clenching her fingers from the windowsill, she flexes them as she follows Draven’s footsteps and turns the corner to—

 

To Cassian.

 

Who is _still_ not dead.

 

Damnit.

 

By the time he reaches them, the nurses are gone, and Cassian is on his feet, looking more than a little unsteady as he shakes Draven’s hand, accepting his congratulations for a mission well accomplished, and Leia almost sees red, breathes slow through her nose until the feeling goes away.

 

“Hello Princess,” he says, as fond as he ever is, and it _hurts_ to hear his voice, even more than it hurts to look him in the eye.

 

“Don’t you _Princess_ me, Andor,” she snaps, only just manages to reign in her hormones and stop from railing into him like she wants, because one good hit would probably knock him out, and she needs him conscious if she’s going to get the answers she needs.

 

So, she nods with her chin toward the table on the other side of the small, private room, “Sit the hells down before you keel over.”

 

Cassian gets that fond look on his face that makes her want to punch him in the teeth, the same way she used to when she was a girl training to be a spy back on Alderaan.

 

But he sits, and she sits down across from him, waits for Draven to take the open seat to her left.

 

“Congratulations on your election, Minister,” Cassian says as he sits straight-backed, which shifts the collar of his pristine scrubs, so Leia can see the bacta patches curling over from his back, and part of her want to tell him to cut the show.

 

Instead, she rolls her eyes, “A few years later, but I appreciate it all the same.”

 

“And um,” Cassian gestures down to her stomach. “All of that, as well.”

 

“Han and I are expecting a boy in a few weeks,” she saves Cassian from having to ask if she and Han managed to make it since the last time he saw them—before supposedly _dying_ , the karking nerfherder—when they were still as combative with one another as they are now.

 

It’s one of the fun parts of their relationship.

 

And also, not at all the point.

 

How the hells did Cassian Andor _die in combat_ , only to end up on Polis _farking_ Massa five years later?

 

She might be fixating, just a little bit.

 

With good damn reason.

 

“All right, Andor,” Draven interjects, _finally_ getting them down to business, and Cassian stiffens again as he turns to him and nods once, signaling that he’s ready. “We received your last transmission before the call for extraction thirteen days ago. Start from there.”

 

And he does.

 

Leia hasn’t had any symptoms of morning sickness in a few months, but after hearing the detailed report of all the things Cassian’s done, all the things he had to do in the name of the New Republic, weeding out the worst of the remaining Imperials from deep, deep inside the fringe of the Outer Rim, a large part of her really wants to heave.

 

“I suppose I’m at your service now, Minister,” Cassian says when he finally finishes, some minutes or maybe hours later. “Wherever you want me, whatever you need of me, I’ll be ready.”

 

Leia blinks.

 

Apparently, he’s karking _lost it._

 

“Cassian,” she snaps, masks her confusion with irritation. “That’s the last thing I thought you’d offer, all things considered.”

 

“Sorry,” he frowns, and Leia just grows more and more confused. “I’m not sure I follow.”

 

Finally—and she’ll blame it on stress and exhaustion and pregnancy brain—something occurs to her, and she tilts her head, studies Cassian through narrowed eyes, “Cassian, why haven’t you asked me about Jyn?”

 

—

In a move that Leia knows he’ll blame on exhaustion and the fact that he’s finally no longer undercover, one of Cassian’s hands strays up to his throat, which confirms her suspicions that the lump under his shirt is from the kyber crystal Jyn inherited from her mother.

 

“Why would I,” he breaks off, pained, and looks down at his lap. “Why would I ask about Jyn?”

 

And then, everything to Leia’s left just _stops_.

 

It’s not the whole room—Cassian’s still breathing, just barely, and the baby’s kicking hard, his feet or arms or elbows also somehow managing to knock into both her rib cage and her bladder at the same time—but everything to her left is _completely_ still, like there’s nothing next to her.

 

But there is.

 

And _now_ , she understands.

 

“Draven,” she barks, voice toneless as she stares straight ahead and resists the urge to punch her top spy in the face.

 

“Ma’am?”

 

“Get out.”

 

Draven doesn’t protest, which is good, because with the way she’s feeling, she’s bound to throw him into a wall, but it’s also bad, because him leaving the room means that she _can’t_ throw him into the wall, which is the _only_ thing she wants to do right now.

 

The door shuts with a click that’s so loud in the silence of the room, and she and Cassian sit, and she sees him trying to work through the bombshell she just dropped on his exhausted head.

 

And he is _so_ exhausted.

 

Even through her ire at his supervisory agent, Leia takes these moments to take in the way he looks up close—really take it in as the surprise at his apparent status of _alive_ fades to a dull throb. He looks almost _sharper_ than he’s ever been, and she remembers Cassian as a barely-nourished teenager going through his last growth-spurt with all the grace of a newborn Banta while also working as a page for her father. He’s drawn and he’s pale, so, so pale from spending _years_ working to dismantle the last remnants of the Empire in the dark, and—yeah, it’s taking all he has to keep his hands from shaking where they rest on the table.

 

Leia burns through the last of her anger at being lied to _for years_ by one of her closest advisors, both on her own behalf and on Jyn’s, and also on every other friend Cassian somehow thought it would be a good idea to leave behind for the good of the Rebellion.

 

“Is it,” Cassian breaks off, but for a whole host of other reasons this time, and Leia can guess that the number one reason is that he doesn’t _want_ to ask what she knows he’s trying to—likely for fear that what he hopes may not be true. “Is it safe to assume that I was misinformed of certain circumstances?”

 

“Understatement of the karking century, Cassian,” she growls before she can help herself, tosses a glare in the direction of the door Draven disappeared through before she sighs and runs her fingers over the bridge of her nose. “I am sorry. I know there’s nothing I can do to make up for the years you’ve lost, but I hope you will try to let me make some amends.”

 

“So Jyn’s alive?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Cassian nods, slow, and looks back down at the table, at his hands splayed across its surface, “Everything I’ve ever done, it’s been for the good of the Rebellion.”

 

Leia barely resists the urge to scowl, “Yes, but would you have really done dark on us if you knew Jyn was alive?”

 

For a long time, Cassian doesn’t answer, until he finally sighs and slumps a little in his seat, “I don’t know. I can’t answer that.”

 

Which is the same answer his silence gave.

 

“Well, as unhappy as I am about _all of this_ , what’s done is done,” Leia says. “Now though, the question is where you go next. I assume you’ll want to see her.”

 

It’s not a question, and it’s not something he can get away with _not_ doing.

 

She won’t let him.

 

Cassian does nod, but then he says, “I am still at your service, Minister. Building a government can’t be easy, and I’ve been fighting for so long that I have to see this through.’

 

“And there are many ways to do that,” whether he picks up on it or not, the cogs are turning in her mind. “Fortunately for you, Jyn and I are both based in the same place. Let’s get you back first, and then we’ll figure out which ways you can serve the New Republic. _After_ you recover. Honestly Cassian, there’s only one time you’ve ever looked worse.

 

Scarif.

 

But not by much.

 

Inclining his head, he shrugs one shoulder, “I can work with that.”

 

“Good,” she heaves her bulky body out of the chair, presses the flat of her hand to the small of her back when it protests at her. “Now let’s go. I am _not_ about to risk staying here long enough that this one decides to make an early appearance. I will not have that happen here.”

 

“Where are we going?”

 

Leia rolls her eyes, looks around for a hoverchair, “It’s time for you to go home, Cassian.”

 

“I don’t exactly have one of those at the moment.”

 

“You will.”

 

—

“I can walk.”

 

“And I can disable your neural connection to your leg with my brain. Get in the damn hoverchair, Andor.”

 

As she knows he will, Cassian relents, and she pointedly ignores the narrowed look he favors her with before he says, “Really?”

 

“I’ve picked up a thing or two since you-“ _decided to run away on behalf of the Rebellion you’ve given your entire life to and pretended you were dead, thus devastating everyone in your life, especially the one person you yourself thought was dead, but wasn’t_.

 

Yeah, there’s never going to be a time when they’re going to be able to joke about that.

 

How is this her life?

 

“Whenever I’ve had time,” she finally settles on. “I dedicate less time to it than Luke would prefer.”

 

Cassian huffs a laugh, “I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.”

 

Keeping the chair steady in front of her with one flat hand, Leia pokes at the back of Cassian’s uninjured shoulder with the other, “I think you know the answer to that.”

 

—

Leia strides—because the Minster of Defense for the New Republic absolutely _does not waddle_ —back onto the ship behind Cassian’s hoverchair, nods once at the pilot lounging in the hold with a datapad on her lap, “We’re ready to take off when you are.”

 

Standing up, the pilot salutes, but then she looks around, frowning, “Of course, ma’am, but what about- “

 

“Draven will make it back to Chandrila in his own time,” she says, short, and the pilot nods once more and hurries up to the flight deck.

 

 _If_ Draven makes it back to Chandrila at all.

 

If he’s smart, he’ll wait until she has the baby and her hormones even out.

 

“Come on,” she says to Cassian—he’s not in the hoverchair anymore, probably won’t go back into it unless she really does disable his leg, which she’ll only do if it _really_ looks like he’s about to keel over, because as ever, the man never remembers that he has limits until they punch him in the face. “There’s got to be a change of clothes for you around here somewhere.”

 

They scavenge up a pair of average-sized sweats from the emergency kit stashed in the galley, and Leia sends Cassian off to the fresher to shower and change while she throws together something to eat, because he’s _really_ not supposed to be looking so skinny.

 

The war is over, he doesn’t need to eat like it is anymore.

 

When he returns, the clothes hang off him like she thought they would, but he looks clean and slightly more human under the mess of hair and the unruly state of his beard, and she shoves a bowl of noodles under his nose, “Sit the hell down and eat.”

 

He does, shoulders hunched up by his ears like he’s still on his guard, and Leia resists the urge to scowl at the thought of his instincts still telling him he needs to be so watchful. Hopefully he comes out of it in his own time, but she also makes a mental note to tall Doctor Kalonia to get a list of names of Chandrila-based trauma therapists for him.

 

Not that Leia wasn’t going to call her anyway to give her the news about one of her least favorite, but also most favorite, patients being very much not as dead as everyone thought.

 

The ship shudders as they make the shift to hyperspace, leaving Polis Massa and all its memories behind them, and Cassian hunches over further, as if startled, and yeah—Leia’s really going to have to find him a therapist.

 

But first, they need to get back to Chandrila and give Jyn the news.

 

Definitely.

 

—

They land in Chandrila’s capital city mid-morning five days later, and Leia’s pretty sure Cassian didn’t sleep for more than a handful of catnaps the entire trip.

 

Hanna City is as bustling as it always is, but the traffic is lighter now that the morning rush has passed, so at least it won’t take them an hour to get out of the city center and to Lake Sah’ot, where Jyn is.

 

When they’re twenty minutes out, Leia figures it’s as good a time as any to give Jyn the warning that she’s about together the surprise of her life.

 

Well, maybe not in so many words.

 

Her hand hovers over the transmit button on the comm. built into her speeder, and Leia tilts her head, takes her eyes off the road so Cassian can feel the full force of her glare for a second, “If you say a word and ruin this surprise, I’m going to end you.”

 

Cassian holds his hands up and leans back in his seat, stretches his legs out until they hit the base of the wheel well, like those motions will ensure that there’s even less of a chance that Jyn will somehow _know_ that he’s in the vehicle when Leia calls.

 

After a second, the call connects with a chirp, “ _Leia? You’re back?_ ”

 

Ever so quietly, Cassian’s inhale catches in his throat, and Leia can only imagine what he’s feeling right now, hearing the sound of Jyn’s voice for the first time in half a decade.

 

“Yeah, a few hours ago,” she lies, easy as breathing, because she _did_ do this for a living before she was thrust into Rebellion leadership. “I was going to come by, but Mothma needs me in an emergency cabinet meeting. I did pick up a climbing frame for the orphanage, expect it to be dropped off in a half hour, that all right?”

 

“ _A climbing frame? I thought you were on a Defense op. How did you pick up a climbing frame?_ ”

 

“I’m just that good. Let’s do dinner this weekend, I’ll call you.”

 

“ _Uh—sure.”_

 

Leia cuts the call, and after a few minutes of scenery flying by as the city buildings bleed out to the countryside, Cassian clears his throat, “A climbing frame?”

 

“Oh, like you’re not going to let the children crawl all over you,” she snorts. “They’re very cute. You won’t be able to resist.”

 

—

Turning down to main road that winds around Lake Sah’ot, Leia pulls to a stop in front of a gate that cuts off a private road. There’s a sign announcing in multiple languages that visitors are only allowed by appointment only. Leia keys in a passcode and the gates swing open with a slow creaking screech that sets her teeth on edge a little, so as soon as her speeder can fit through the gap, she drives through them, turns up the tree-lined driveway.

 

The orphanage is large, the building housing it a repurposed vacation manor that used to be owned by one of the Moffs who ruled the system on behalf of the Emperor. It took a long time to strip it over the old Imperial fixtures, but it’s not more than enough to take care of just some of the millions of children displaced by the Empire’s efforts to remake the galaxy in a more humanoid image.

 

As she hoped, the grounds are quiet, and Leia pulls the speeder to a stop on the other side of the fountain that centers the rounded driveway, “All right Andor,” she motions for him to get out. “Don’t mess this up.”

 

“Bye Princess,” Cassian levers himself out of the speeder, sketches a shaky salute. “I’ll see you around.”

 

“Don’t sass me, Commander,” she snorts, watches him slowly lip around the fountain for a moment before she puts the speeder back in gear.

 

Pulling away, she sees him step up the front deck and squares his shoulders, and through the rearview, she watches him hesitate for a second before he raises his hand to knock on the door.

 

—

A climbing frame?

 

Five years removed from the war and even longer removed from the life that put her and Leia on opposite sides of it, Jyn Erso shakes her head and sets her comm. on the counter next to the sink, goes back to the dishes she was in the middle of washing before she took Leia’s call.

 

Shara Bey was never this ridiculous when she was pregnant.

 

Her fingers are soaked and look like prunes by the time she’s done with the piles of dishes leftover from breakfast, but the house is quiet with all the older children at school and their crop of younger kids down at the shore with Teren and Maré, the orphanage’s other live-in staff members, one Jyn hired the second Chancellor Mothma threw the heaps of funding at her that she needed to get this crazy plan off the ground.

 

A glance out the window at the expansive and toy-strewn back lawn reminds Jyn that they really don’t _need_ yet another climbing frame, what with the matching swing sets and the tree house and all the other climbing apparatus’ Leia’s donated over the years—refreshing the old ones, she’s always insisted—and Jyn’s learned better than to argue with her while she’s pregnant.

 

So, another yard-toy it is.

 

The kids will love it, so it’s not like it’s a _bad_ thing.

 

Plus, the Tooka cats that live in and around the property since the orphanage opened three years ago, not-so-slowly multiplying every time Jyn turns her back, will probably get some good use out of it too.

 

Jyn turns away from the sink but stops short halfway around when her knee—which never fully recovered from dislocating it on Scarif—protests at her, made worse with the way one of the Tookas, aptly named _Cat_ , because that’s what she gets when she lets the children do the naming, comes up and butts its head against her kneecap. Shooing it away, she breathes deep and holds her leg steady until the feeling passes, and then carefully shifts the rest of her body around, sets her foot back on the hardwood and takes a careful step. The pain has come and gone more than once today, which means it’s probably going to rain later.

 

When she was younger, she never believed the people who claimed they could predict changes in the weather simply through the aches in their joints—even Chirrut tried to convince her of that when they were flying down toward the Imperial base on Eadu, mostly to try to lighten the mood—but now that the war is won and she’s stopped running, her body protests at her at just about every change in the weather.

 

Getting old is incredibly inconvenient.

 

But she’s also outlived just about every expectation, including her own.

 

So, she’ll take the aches.

 

A series of plaintive meows draws her focus away from the slow deterioration of her body, and Jyn rolls her eyes and goes for the fridge for some milk for one of the younger Tookas that is either a recent addition, or she’s just been too busy with the kids to notice its arrival.

 

Jyn picks her way through the orphanage’s main floor, picking up mislaid toys and clothes and shifting furniture back into place with the slow ease of someone taking every advantage of having a completely empty house, even if it’s just for the few hours.

 

When the war finally ended in the sands of Jakku, Jyn never thought she’d be here, surrounded by children of all species in need of homes, but then again, there’s very little about her life that she ever took the time to imagine. Least of all the thoughts on who is and isn’t in it.

 

Shaking her head, Jyn pads deeper into the expansive living room—opulence she’s still getting used to, even if the walls are scuffed and there’s still some paint in the corner from one rainy afternoon gone a little wild—and she pushes those thoughts out of her mind, because she’s having a good day and doesn’t want to spend the afternoon curled up on her bed in tears as she loses herself in the parts of her past that make her heart hurt.

 

A knock on the door breaks her out of the last of those musings, and Jyn steals a glance at the chrono on the wall, arches a brow because it’s too early for that to be the delivery Leia mentioned. It’s not uncommon for prospective parents to show up on her doorstep, but the ones without an appointment don’t even make it past the front gate, and either way, Jyn makes a point to _not_ schedule appointments when the kids are out of the house.

 

For obvious reasons.

 

As she passes one of the mirrors hanging on the wall in the foyer, Jyn passes a hand over her hair—it’s graying a little in piece-y streaks all over her head, as it has since she turned twenty-four and found the first clusters of gray hairs growing out of the nape of her neck—to make sure she’s at least a little presentable for whoever’s decided to drop by, sets her shoulders and opens the door.

 

The door is big and heavy, so when she sees who’s standing on the porch, she pulls back too hard in her haste to clasp her nerveless hands over her mouth, and it hits her hard on the shoulder, jolting her enough that she scuttles around it and staggers before regaining her balance—

 

It’s not possible.

 

Stopping short again, she rocks on still unsteady legs and takes him in, and it can’t be, because he’s—

 

He died.

 

He can’t be standing here, on her porch on the shores of Lake Sah’ot, because he died. Five years ago, he died.

 

And she was clear across the galaxy when it happened, even though they _promised_ after surviving Scarif that they’d see each other through to the end of the line, no matter what day that turned out to be.

 

It was a promise the war kept her from keeping.

 

Or maybe—

 

The sun breaks through the thick clouds and lights off his hair—it’s longer than she’s ever seen it and he’s so thin and shaking a little and he’s putting more weight on one side than he is the other, chest moving as he _breathes_ and he can’t possibly be some hallucination or fever dream because he’s in front of her and _breathing_ and—

 

Breathing _has to_ mean he’s alive.

 

Jyn’s shaking as she reaches toward the lump under the collar of his too-big shirt, for the long-missing weight of what she knows lies under the fabric, because it’s a weight she’s missed from her own neck for _years_ , even if giving it to him was the right thing to do at the time.

 

The first touch is a jolt to her system that makes her a little dizzy, and Jyn’s fingers fumble against his collar until he reaches up and helps her pulls the leather cord out from under his shirt, to the touch-worn crystal hanging off the end. Their fingers tangle together around it, and Jyn grips the kyber so hard she feels the point at the end of it dig into the fleshy part of her palm, even as his knuckles go white with how hard he’s holding her right back.

 

But it’s the actual touch of his fingertips to her sin that jolts her out of the haze, and somehow, it hits her that is really is Cassian standing in front of her, shaking and way too thin and pale and _alive_.

 

Cassian is alive.

 

She has a thousand questions for him but can’t ask any of them as her throat locks up on her, so she does what the rest of her brain is screaming for her to do and takes that last step forward and presses her forehead to her shoulder. She wraps her arm around his narrow waist as he does the same with his free arm around her back, holds her to his chest with fingers digging tight into the curve of her shoulder.

 

“I-“ she breaks off when her voice hitches, feels him gasp against her, and Jyn tilts her head so she can see the way their hands grip around one another’s around the kyber crystal and rest on the warm skin of his throat. The back of her knuckles press against his skin and she feels the rapid-fire fluttering of his pulse and still doesn’t know how to say all the thousands of things she wants to say to him and—

 

Cassian chokes on what might be a sob, and Jyn holds him tighter as he clears his throat, manages to force out a raspy, “Hi.”

 

Her nose itches in that way she knows means she’s about to start crying, and she sniffs hard to make it go away and ends up breathing him in, and—gods, he smells the same and the thought stabs at her heart as the memories of all the things she tried to put into a box in the back of her mind and move on from come flooding back, because he went and died on her, but—

 

But he’s not dead.

 

Not anymore.

 

“ _Cassian_.”

 

The hand around her upper back grips hard against her shoulder, but then Cassian staggers against her like a puppet with its strings cut, and Jyn finally snaps out of her shock, scrambles to take his weight, jams her shoulder into his armpit, “Cassian, are you all right?”

 

Those instincts practically beaten into her since she was a child fleeing Courscant in the dead of night with her parents kick in, and she shuffles him into the house, mentally thinking of all the twists and turns it’s going to take to get him to the nearest flat surface that’s private and will stay private even when the kids get back.

 

He tries to take back his weight, but almost falls and nearly sends them both into the table in the entryway, “I just need-I need to,” he shakes his head like he’s trying to wake back up, and Jyn can’t help but feel like she relates, and they’re both swimming through the galaxy’s strangest fever dream. “I need to sit for a second.”

 

“I’ve got you,” she holds his waist tighter and turns him down the first hallway off the foyer, because yeah, her room is the best place for him. “Stop fighting me and let me help.”

 

“I can make-”

 

Jyn grunts and jams her shoulder higher, “Cassian,” after keeping it silent and to herself for so many years, it’s so beyond strange to even speak his name aloud—she rarely trades war stories with anyone but Leia, but since she hasn’t been able to drink in _months_ , it’s been difficult to bring herself to that state of mind to be able to talk about it, any of it—but it’s the best kind of weird she’s ever felt. “I carried you once, I can do it again.”

 

It’s probably not the best time to mention Scarif, but words are falling from her mouth at a rate she just can’t be bothered to try to control.

 

Finally, he stops fighting her and lets her take more of his weight, and they stumble down the hall, have to navigate around a pile of clothes that should be down in the laundry room, but Jyn can’t bring herself to care about that right now, not with the memories of the shaky escape from Scarif bleeding into the reality of pulling Cassian toward her room.

 

They make it through the door and Jyn helps her over to the bed, erases him into it and barely has the chance to pull off his shoes before she realizes he’s snoring into her pillows, not unconscious, but fast asleep and completely dead to the world.

 

Okay—maybe that’s not the best comparison she’s ever come up with.

 

But there is a man who is supposed to be dead lying on her bed right now, and nothing in her life makes sense anymore.

 

Tremors are still running through her hands, and she shoves his legs all the way up the mattress, drapes the throw blanket she keeps at the foot of her bed over his chest when she sees him shiver. She runs her fingertips over the creases between his brows until they smooth out, pushes strands of disheveled hair out of the way before she slumps down next to the bed, landing hard enough on her knees that she has to bite back a curse.

 

Cassian Andor is alive and sleeping on her bed, and there’s a very large part of her that thinks if she closes her eyes too long in a blink, the slight form of his body will disappear, and this will all turn out to be some strange event, the product of some bad mushrooms the kids dug up from the garden, or something.

 

But every time she blinks, he’s still there, still on her bed and sleeping and breathing,

 

He looks like a corpse, but he’s the most beautiful thrice-damned corpse she’s ever seen.

 

“What the hells?” She whispers, runs the tips of her fingers over the line of his unruly beard, over his jaw and to the side of his neck where she can feel the even beating of his pulse. “What the hells is going on?”

 

The air of her bedroom and the man on her bed offer no answers, but then Jyn remembers she has her comm. in her pocket, and there is _no possible way_ that Leia’s sitting in a meeting with the Chancellor and the rest of her cabinet right now.

 

If she is, Jyn’ll eat her boot.

 

She can’t bring herself to move her hand off Cassian’s cheek, not when his skin is so warm and thrumming with _life_ , so she reaches around with her other hand and bends her wrist back to slip her fingers into her pocket, fumbles around and almost drops the comm. before she grips it with her index and middle fingers, drags it around and over so she can tap a message to Leia that reads, in very, very short, ” _What_.”

 

“ _Do you like your present?_ ” She gets the reply so quickly there’s _no way in all the hells_ that Leia isn’t currently sitting in her speeder in front of the house she and Han live in on the other side of the lake, just waiting for Jyn’s message. “ _You wouldn’t believe where I found it. Seriously. Never. And not because you don’t have the security clearance for it anymore. I don’t even know how I found it and I sat through the debrief. I blame pregnancy brain._ ”

 

As she has since she opened the door and found the unimaginable on her doorstep, Jyn struggles how to figure out how to best articulate the thousand questions still running through her mind, because Cassian Andor _died five years ago_ and is now _sleeping on her bed_.

 

“ _What. The hells. Is going on?_ ”

 

“ _Apparently, Cassian’s not dead. Did he not tell you the rest?_ ”

 

As if on cue, Cassian grunts in his sleep, a sound that tugs on one of her memories, of that same sound he used to make when whatever he was dreaming about upset him, and she runs her thumb down the line of his cheek, slides her hand up and down his neck until he resettles, “ _He passed out before I could ask_.”

 

“ _Oh good. I don’t think he’s slept in a few months._ ”

 

Jyn drops her comm. on the mattress so she has room to drop her face to her palm, now sitting on even fewer answers and more questions than she’s ever had, probably since the day a group of Rebels and one very irritable KX droid broke her out of that work camp on Wobani and sat her down in a room with Mon Monthma, Davits Draven, Bail Organa, and Cassian Andor, who _somehow is not dead_.

 

What the hells?


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, you run an orphanage.”
> 
> “I’m not really sure how it happened.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part two! I went through and made a few much-needed but minor edits to part one, and that's what I get for posting this straight from Scrivener and not throwing it into a Word doc for a quick looksie! Whoops!
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 222 
> 
> “Have some bread.” 
> 
> “I don’t eat bread, it’s usually poisoned.” 
> 
> “If this is some gluten-free nonsense-“ 
> 
> “No, actual poison.”

Jyn wakes with a jolt, hazily realizes she slipped into a doze sometime after—after _whatever_ the hells that was.

 

And someone is running their fingers through her hair.

 

Shifting her face out of her palm, Jyn blinks the haze of sleep from her mind and finds Cassian’s warm brown eyes staring intently on her, on how she’s slumped against the side of her bed in a position that really isn’t all that comfortable. His fingertips are tangled in her hair and the hand she had pressed to his neck slipped at some point while she was out of it—brain shutting down as she tries to process everything, because _what_ —and drifted down to cover the kyber crystal where it rests against his chest.

 

“Hi,” Cassian whispers, and Jyn’s throat locks up just like it did when she found him on her porch and he said that same word in that same tone, the first words he’s said since they told each other they’d see one another later, five years ago on a Rebel base on a world she can’t be bothered to try to remember the name of. “Sorry if I startled you.”

 

Her eyes sting again, and when Jyn swipes at them, her fingertips come away damp, “I don’t-“ she breaks off, drops her forehead to the mattress and feels the way Cassian’s fingers slip around the back of her head, thumb stroking the side of her neck like he used to when she was stressed. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to ask. I’m so confused. _How_ are you here?”

 

Cassian cups his hand around her neck, fingertips resting against her hammering pulse, “We were lied to,” he finally says, and Jyn realizes exactly how much he’s _not_ saying with those few words, slumps over with the force of the pain and disappointment and more than a little anger that hits her after trying to tamp down on it and the memories of being at war and doing whatever she had to do to survive for so long.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah,” Cassian says as eloquently as she does.

 

She snorts a wet laugh that’s mostly a sob, still can’t bring herself to lift her head off the bedding.

 

It would be so easy to get so angry, to rail and rage, but that would mean getting up and she just _can’t_.

 

And it won’t solve a thing.

 

So, she doesn’t.

 

They sit for a while, lapsed into a silence that reminds Jyn of freezing but quiet nights on Echo Base, each working on their own projects and reports and debrief and missions, but in one another’s space, a place that was safe and secure for all that they were on an unpredictable ball of ice, drawing ever closer to a confrontation with the Empire with every breath they took.

 

Even the plaintive scratching is a reminder of those days long past, but this time it’s from a pair of cats trying to gain entry into her room, rather than the furry little ice rodents that used to nibble through important wiring, sending quadrants upon quadrants into icy, inconvenient silence.

 

Tilting her head a little, Jyn arches a brow at Cassian, who seems to be content to just sit and wait her out, “Are you okay?”

 

He shrugs, and Jyn frowns when she sees pain flicker across his face from the motion, “I’m as good as can be, all things considered.”

 

Jyn’s frown deepens into a scowl, “You’re forgetting how much time I spend around children,” she pokes at the nearest part of him, which happens to be his shoulder. “I’ve gotten much better at figuring out what’s bullshit and what’s not. What happened to you?”

 

“I’m not sure where to start,” he shifts a little, winces again. “It was—it was touch and go there, for a little while.”

 

Yeah, Jyn knows what that means.

 

Torture.

 

Of course, it’s torture.

 

Before she can press him further about the injuries he’s carrying, a low rumble cuts through the silence of her bedroom, muffling the cats’ whines as they are and continue to be barred from the room, “When’s the last time you ate?” She asks as she carefully stretches her leg out before she braces her hands on the bed and levers up to her feet.

 

Cassian shrugs as he sits up, one arm wrapping around his waist to brace his ribs, and Jyn scowls at the thought of the wounds she knows are hidden under his clothes.

 

Holding her hands out, she waits for him to take them both and helps him back to his feet, laughing a little when he bumps into her intentionally before he finds his balance, like he used to when he was learning how to walk again with his prosthetic, which would only give her a heart attack every other time he pulled that trick. He squeezes her fingers and smiles down at her before Jyn drops one of his hands, pushes her shoulder back under his armpit and helps him out of the room toward the kitchen.

 

He’s still shaky, so he lets her, which is much better than risking him collapsing in the hall.

 

“Where are all the children?” Cassian asks around bites of the hearty stew she keeps on hand for the days when she’s too lazy to cook anything more complicated.

 

She casts a glance at the chrono above the stove, “The little ones should be back within the hour,” she does a little math in her head. “The rest will be back later, when school lets out.”

 

Taking another slow bite—too slow for him not to be counting out breaths and heartbeats in a way Jyn remembers from those hazy years between being abandoned by Saw and picked up by the Rebellion, a way to pretend to stretch out her meager meals to make them seem more filling than they were—Cassian nods and takes another look around the large kitchen, “So, you run an orphanage.”

 

“I’m not really sure how it happened.”

 

She really isn’t.

 

One day, she was adrift, racking her mind of what she could do now that the war was over and the time for people with her unique expertise of getting in and causing as much destruction with as little supplies as possible was ending, and the next Leia and Mothma were asking if she wanted to open a home to children displaced by war.

 

She was hesitant—what was she supposed to offer beings in a time of life she doesn’t have happy memories of—but somehow, it works.

 

And Leia has _never_ let her live it down.

 

Cassian nods again, slow, and takes another bite exactly seven breaths after the last, “Okay.”

 

They lose the strain of conversation to the cats that migrated in after them, and Jyn sweeps one up into her arms and pets the soft fur of its belly as it puts against her and licks her cheek.

 

“Now that you’re back,” she finally brings herself to ask, but mostly into the cat’s fur. “What will you do?”

 

Wordlessly, Cassian shrugs a shoulder, for a moment looks lost just like he did after Scarif, before they knew he was going to get the replacement leg, before he knew if he could still be a part of the Rebellion that he served since he was six years old.

 

There’s never been another life for him. War is the only thing he’s ever known.

 

And they’re not at war anymore.

 

“I don’t exactly have anywhere to go. Leia, well, she pretty much dumped me on your doorstep.”

 

Jyn rolls her eyes, props her hip against the counter, lets the cat slither out of her arms and pad across to where Cassian is sitting, and something warm blooms in her chest when he lets the cat sniff the back of his fingers, brushes his palm against its back, “Sounds like her.”

 

“If you’d rather I not-“ he breaks off, shakes his head and turns his gaze back down to the counter, and the cat quickly loses interest from the lack of attention and hops away. “I know that five years is a long time.”

 

There’s a lot that’s going into what he’s not saying, and all of it is both logical and _completely absurd_.

 

There’s no way she wants him anywhere else.

 

A hard lump forms in her throat, and Jyn swallows hard to make it go away, “No,” she says before he can say anymore. “I’d rather have you here, compared to the alternative.”

 

The alternative where he’s not here because he’s dead.

 

No, that’s _not_ a better option.

 

“Okay,” he says, slow, but whatever else he might follow with is cut off by the sounds of commotion at the front door, commotion that makes him flinch before he realizes that the shouting is from happy children home early, and not anything otherwise. “I’ll do my best to stay out of your hair.”

 

Jyn shakes her head, because she really doesn’t want that, “They’re going to be curious about you,” she says instead, grips the edge of the counter so hard her knuckles go white, because it’s that or reach out for him, and she’s not sure what he wants her to do. “What do you want me to say?”

 

“Whatever you want,” he says, which isn’t an answer at all. “I’m not undercover right now. In fact, I’m not sure where I’m going to go from here. Leia wasn’t very interested in talking about it, especially after she realized that I thought you were-“

 

He breaks off, waves a hand, and she gets it, she doesn’t want to say those words any more than he does.

 

That’s a lot to unload and not a lot of time to do it, “Okay,” she says, because they will talk about it, at some point. “Okay. Get ready then, the littles can be very screechy.”

 

“Can’t be worse than Leia and Han back in the day,” he jokes and actually smiles for the first time since he showed up, and maybe they will be all right, after everything settles down, whenever that may be.

 

Jyn smirks back.

 

“Wanna bet?”

 

—

The house that was once quiet bursts to life through boundless chatter the second the door creaks open, footsteps spreading through the silence and filling it with sound.

 

While Jyn’s long since taught herself not to react to it, it makes sense that Cassian’s experiences with sudden bursts of loud noises bring to life the instincts he’s bred since he was as old as some of the children she now has a hand in raising. Slipping away from the counter, Jyn settles next to him, props her elbows on the counter and presses the line of her arm against his. She nudges him gently until he loses some of that tension, and sends a tilted smile in her direction, pushes the backs of his fingers against hers.

 

One set of pattering footsteps grows louder as it nears the kitchen, and Jyn straightens expectantly, but keeps her hip pressed to Cassian’s side to help him stay grounded.

 

“Jyn!”

 

A little girl bursts around the corner at a full-tilt run that turns her into more of a blur than a being, throws herself into Jyn’s legs with a happy squeal, “I saw fishies in the lake!”

 

“Hi you!” She hefts the girl up onto her hip. “Did you really?”

 

The girl’s eyes are huge and bright, pale skin very obviously flushed with purple, especially on her cheeks and palms and elbows. It speaks to a non-humanoid ancestor somewhere a few generations back in her family—but definitely still recent enough to make it a problem to grow up in the previous regime.

 

She nods brightly, “I did! I counted a lot of them!” She tilts her head around. “Who’s that?”

 

“Yanna, this is Cassian,” she shifts the girl higher on her hip, tickles her belly with her free hand until her giggles fill the brightly lit kitchen, because she likes the way the sound feels against her skin, especially after the emotional morning she’s had. “Will you say hi?”

 

Yanna drops her forehead against Jyn’s collarbone with a _thunk_ that she feels all the way down to the base of her spine, and she tucks her nose against Jyn’s skin, shifts a little so she can free one hand and wave it in Cassian’s direction, “Hi.”

 

“Hello,” he dips his head. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

Jyn swallows hard at the lump that’s taken up residence in her throat.

 

This is going to be harder than she thought.

 

She’s drawn from the buzzing that’s filled her mind when Teren—a tall, tattooed Mirialan who emigrated to Chandrila after the war—turns into the kitchen, stops short when he sees the visitor seated at the counter, “Didn’t know we had a guest,” he says, eyebrow arched in Jyn’s direction.

 

Jyn rolls her eyes and sets Yanna down, taps her on the butt, gently pushing her in the direction of the den to play with the other kids, who are all probably undoing every halfhearted effort she made to keep the room clean, “Teren, Cassian. Cassian, Teren, my chief child wrangler.”

 

“Cassian as in,” Teren trails off, head still tilted as he takes Cassian in with more than a little suspicion.

 

It’s not Jyn’s fault she kept to the good stories of to war when she could be convinced to tell them, when she and Cassian were running around the galaxy, causing upheaval amongst the Empire’s upper echelon. Sure, Cassian doesn’t look much like that man now, sitting hunched over in her kitchen, but—it doesn’t matter, because he’s alive.

 

“Yes, that Cassian,” she says, pointed. “He’s come for a visit.”

 

Teren nods, slow. “Ah, visit, is it? And how long is that visit going to be?”

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Cassian hunch further, and she taps her elbow to the side of his shoulder before leveling a glare at Teren, “None of your damn business,” she knows she has to turn the focus away from him, especially until they figure out what he wants to do with, well, his _entire life_. “Now how was the lake?”

 

—

By the time evening settles, the house is full of children, about an even split between humanoid and non-humanoid, which isn’t entirely common, especially in the Inner Rim.

 

But that was the point of this entire experiment, and it’s been working out well enough so far.

 

After dinner, Jyn sends Cassian back to her room with strict orders to shower and make use of her appropriately oversized medkit—one of the many stashed around the property, because kids, especially kids going through growth spurts, are walking accidents waiting to happen, and Jyn is nothing if not prepared—to deal with the wounds she knows he’s still hiding from her. But if he needs the time, she’ll let him take it, and helps Maré and Teren get the littles situated in their own beds before reminding the older kids that yes, they do have a guest, but that’s no excuse not to go to bed at their regular time, because it’s still a school night.

 

They’re very curious.

 

It’s very inconvenient.

 

Sitting in bed, side by side and propped up against the headboard while one goes over paperwork and the other dozes is a heartbreakingly familiar flashback to years and years ago, but the bed’s at least twice as large as it is in her memories, and it was rarely Jyn with the paperwork propped on her blanket-covered knees.

 

All the same, she has children in need of homes and a gigantic pile of applications from parents to read over, and even though her morning was completely shot—in the _best_ way—she still has to get responses out tomorrow morning.

 

Cassian is already half asleep by the time she gets back, and for a second Jyn thinks he’s completely out of it, but when she settles into bed he slumps from one side to the other and drops his head to her shoulder, eyes half-closed as he skims through the applications on her datapad and breathes rhythmically against the side of her neck.

 

She reads through one application that sounds promising and is about to flag it when Cassian reaches out and skims back up, makes a soft, disapproving grunt in the back of his throat as he taps at the section that stood out to him. Reading it over again, Jyn slides her arm around his neck, props her bent elbow against the slope of his shoulder, resolves to ignore the scrape of the bacta patch adhering to his skin as she settles her fingertips into his damp hair, “Yeah, good point,” she mutters and runs her fingernails over his scalp, flags the application for further review. “Nice catch.”

 

Curling a hand over her thigh, Cassian nods into her shoulder and another one of those wordless grunts sounds in the back of his throat, which turns into a purr when she shifts her hand back and sets the pads of her fingers against the base of his skull, presses down until some of the tension in the shoulder pressed against her releases.

 

She knows why he’s not actively trying to sleep, even though he’s clearly as exhausted as he’s ever been, but she has to be up for a little while longer, so she’ll press him about it when she’s ready to sleep.

 

A few applications later lands Jyn on a childless couple looking for a young new addition to their burgeoning family, and she taps her fingertips against the side of the datapad as she reads the letter accompanying the application, detailing the trails of maintaining an interspecies relationship on an Imperial-controlled world in the Mid-Rim. Against her side, she knows Cassian is reading it too, and she keeps her scrolling slow because she knows he takes a little longer to read than she does for reasons of detail and accuracy _and_ because his brain still filters every word through the Festian dialect he grew up speaking.

 

“D’you,” he breaks off around a yawn and mutters something she can’t quite catch, and it hits her that he’s not speaking Basic. He realizes it too, clears his throat and tries again, “Do you think one of these families could be good candidates for Yanna?”

 

Jyn hums low in the back of her throat, “About that,” she drawls, takes a slow breath, because of course this was going to come up, it’s not like she can keep it from him any longer than she already has, but the words still stuck in the back of her throat since Yanna came barreling into the kitchen, and it’s only been the sheer force of her will that she hasn’t blurted it out yet. “Yanna’s, not exactly, you know, up for adoption right now.”

 

“No?”

 

“No,” she shakes her head, resolutely keeps her gaze trained to the datapad propped on her knees, because she knows she’s not ready to take the look on his face when she tells him. “Yanna’s mine. I adopted her two and a half years ago, when she was a baby.”

 

For a second, Cassian goes completely still, and then finally, he lifts his head off her shoulder, blinks a couple times like he’s trying to wake himself back up, and Jyn’s heart lodges itself in her throat—apparently, she’s more nervous about Cassian’s reaction than she realized.

 

Then again, she hasn’t had _time_ to think about it, to think about that or the implications of telling him, since she’s only had him back and alive and with her for mere _hours_.

 

Hours since her life was flipped back upside down.

 

Or maybe upside right.

 

As hard as she tried, things were never the same after Cassian—

 

Jyn blinks hard to clear away those traitorous thoughts, to clear away the tears that gather in the corners of her itching eyes, because she doesn’t need to think about those years they lost, because he’s back now, and they can figure out the rest.

 

They have time.

 

So much time that she sits and waits on pins and needles for Cassian to come out with, well, whatever he’s going to come out with.

 

“You’re,” he blinks again, staring intently at her. “You’ve got a daughter.”

 

She nods once, slow, “Yeah. You should have seen her when she was a baby. I just couldn’t let her go.”

 

Exhaustion must hit him again, because Cassian slumps back against her shoulder, settles in closer, his side a warm line against her hip and palm warm against her stomach, “Oh. Okay.”

 

That’s not really a response, but at the same time—he’s not pulling away.

 

“She’s really yours?” He asks after they sit in silence for so long that her tablet dims, plunging them in darkness, which is probably a good thing at this point in a day that’s gone in so many directions since they unknowingly woke up with their respective lives on a collision course.

 

“Yeah,” she laughs, but its strained and she doesn’t try to hide it, is too exhausted to try to hide it, and presses her hands to her aching eyes. “I don’t know how that happened either.”

 

Blindly tossing the datapad on her nightstand, Jyn blinks a couple times, lets her eyes adjust to the darkness as she turns onto her side, stretches out and curls her leg over Cassian’s hip. With the barest hints of moonlight streaming into the room between the gaps in the curtains, she sees the little lines crinkling in the corners of his eyes as he slides his hand under her shirt and around to the small of her back.

 

He presses his mouth to her hairline, and her breath catches, “Are you happy? With how you’ve ended up?”

 

Tipping her head up, Jyn presses her palm to the side of his neck, rests her forehead against his and strokes her thumb down the line of his jaw, “Happier now, Cassian,” because she _is_ , and she doesn’t want to let this go. Not after everything. “Welcome home.”

 

Cassian gasps, buries his face against her neck, and she feels dampness spread across her skin that makes the corners of her own eyes prick, “ _Jyn. I-_ “

 

Hushing him, she tangles her fingers in his hair, strokes her thumb over the nape of his neck, “Cassian,” she whispers into the dark, because that’s the only way she’s going to be able to get her next words out. “Did you still love me, even when you thought I was dead?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good,” leaning back, she presses her mouth to his, quick and chaste, savors him for one long second, because she can and she must and five years is far too long to go without his mouth on hers. “Go to sleep,” she murmurs against him. “We can sort out the rest in the morning.”

 

He nods against her, mouth brushing against hers for a breath before he tucks his head against her shoulder and breathes deep, lets out a shuddering sigh and holds her tighter.

 

Love is not a guarantee, but she still had to ask.

 

—

It’s been a long, _long_ time since Jyn woke violently from a nightmare.

 

Having Yanna in her life—and very often curled up next to her in her bed—trained her out of the habit of launching from asleep to awake, very quickly, because if there’s one thing worse than a bad reaction to a nightmare, it’s an overtired and irritable toddler who barely knows how to soothe herself back to sleep.

 

Temper tantrums are _not_ Jyn’s favorite part of being someone’s parent.

 

So, when Jyn wakes from a hazy nightmare, it’s with little more than an indrawn breath, and she slowly blinks her eyes open and takes in the way the Chandrilian moonlight has shifted and splashes across the foot of the bed.

 

She dreamed, like she has countless times, of the night she got the news of Cassian’s death, the painful stabbing in her heart as Leia sat her down in a conference room on Home One, and the moments afterward when Jyn was faced with the realization that she was now the _only_ survivor of Rogue One and _how_ was that fair that she survived when Cassian didn’t?

 

But he did, because he’s lying in this bed next to her.

 

Unless this was a dream.

 

A glance to the side confirms that, confirms that he’s still lying next to her, as fast asleep as he ever gets—which isn’t much.

 

Jyn turns her head back to the ceiling, because she remembers all too well the time she woke Cassian just by _staring_ at him harder than his instincts preferred, and since it’s going to take some time before she calms enough to even consider about going back to sleep, she slips out of bed. Curling up in the armchair in the corner of her room—a gift from Leia when she finally caved and spilled the news of Yanna’s adoption—she drags the knitted blanket—a handmade gift from C-3PO celebrating the same announcement—off the back and wraps it around her shoulders.

 

It’s hard to look away from Cassian for too long though, but she keeps her gaze light as she watches him get some much-needed rest. She frowns a little when he twitches after a while, reaches out on his sleep for the other side of the mattress she was sleeping on, but he seems to resettle once his palm hits the rumpled blanket.

 

Cassian’s alive.

 

Alive and in her bed.

 

Between one blink and the next, Jyn realizes that the sleeping man she’s been watching is staring back through half-closed eyes, definitely not sleeping anymore, “Hi,” she scrubs a hand over her cheek. “Sorry.”

 

“You okay?”

 

Her laugh is more than a little watery and she realizes she’s been crying, swipes her hand over her eyes and wipes the wetness she finds there off on the blanket, “You didn’t think I had all my shit together, did you?”

 

Cassian turns his outstretched palm up, pushes it toward the edge of the mattress, but doesn’t move much more than that, “C’mere Jyn.”

 

Uncurling her legs, Jyn carefully sets her feet on the floor, stands when she’s sure her knees won’t give out on her—it happened once, and it was not a fun experience. She lets the blanket slide off her shoulders and makes the short journey across the room, clasps her fingers around his sleep-warm palm and curls back up under the covers next to him, presses back into his side, “Hi,” she whispers against his shoulder as she leeches warmth from him. “Sorry if I woke you.”

 

He hushes her, presses his lips to her hairline as he slips one hand under the hem of her shirt and rests it on the curve of her lower back, “Don’t know why you’re apologizing, this is the most sleep I’ve gotten in months.”

 

Jyn can’t help the sob that breaks against him, “That’s not a good thing.”

 

“I know,” he sighs against her forehead, traces aimless patterns against her skin and shifts to let her slide an ankle between his legs. “I’ve been fighting for a long time. I almost don’t know what to do with myself.”

 

Well, she’s certainly been there.

 

“You definitely don’t know what to do with yourself,” she mutters, squirms when he digs his fingers into her side for a second before he spreads his palm out around her hip, pulls her tighter into his side and buries his face in her neck. “Will you let me help you figure it out?”

 

His sigh warms her skin, “I don’t want to keep you from doing the things you need to do.”

 

“Cassian-“

 

“No,” he cuts her off gently, presses his lips to the curve of her neck, to that spot that never fails to make her sigh and melt into him—and he’s definitely doing it on purpose. “I know I’m interrupting your life.”

 

“And I don’t care,” she retaliates by sliding one hand around his hip, settles it low on his waistband and toys with the fabric of his pajama pants. “Best interruption I could ever ask for.”

 

Wrapping her other arm around his shoulders, Jyn digs her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, squeezes until some of the tension releases, “You’ve got me, Cassian, you always have,” she murmurs. “Let me help you the rest of the way.”

 

Finally, he slumps against her, “Okay. Thank you, Jyn.”

 

—

Jyn often compares breakfast to a poorly organized circus.

 

It’s children. Hungry children _everywhere_.

 

Between the older kids on their way to school and the little sand the _cats_ underfoot, it’s an experiment in all the organizational training she’s ever picked up from helping coordinate _literal armies_ to get the meal finished with everyone relatively unscathed.

 

Sometimes though, it’s a bit much for her, reminds her too much of the crowds in mess back on Echo Base, at the lowest point in their war against the Emperor and Darth Vader.

 

And just when she feels like she needs to bolt out of the room, Maré—an older humanoid with white hair styled not unlike the way Mon Mothma styles hers—shoves a pair of plates in Jyn’s hands, shoos her away, “Off you go. I can finish up in here.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

The part of her wants to flee back to her room is growing, especially with the easy out, but she knows she has a job to do, a responsibility to these children, even if she still just wants to spend all her time reminding herself that Cassian is here and with her and alive.

 

“ _Force sake,_ Jyn, you are the worst at this,” Maré laughs at the way she scowls. “Off with you. Go away.”

 

“Oh fine,” Jyn rolls her eyes, shifts her grip on the plates and drops a kiss on the top of Yanna’s head before she leaves the kitchen.

 

When she gets back to her room, she nearly drops their food.

 

“ _Cassian_.”

 

He was halfway into his shirt when she walks in, but drops his arms and lets the fabric—an old shirt borrowed from the back of Teren’s closet—gather around his wrists, “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says as he shrugs, which tugs at the _definitely_ painful looking knife-wound gashed across his ribs.

 

A scoff catches in her throat, “You were always an expert at understating things,” she shakes her head and leaves the plates on her desk, because she really might drop them if he gives her his back. It can’t be much better than the front, especially if the dark, boot-shaped bruises curving around his hip are any indication. “Force, Cassian. I know I’ve seen you look worse, but you have to know this isn’t good.”

 

“Yeah,” he finally allows, shoulders slumping a bit in a way that makes her heart hurt. “I do.”

 

There’s a part of her that’s not entirely sure he does know, but also isn’t sure he doesn’t _actually_ know, or if he’s just lying to her to try to make her feel better.

 

He hasn’t done the latter in _years_ , not since after Scarif and those last surgeries before Doctor Kalonia conferred with her superior and all parties reluctantly agreed that there was no chance that they’d be able to salvage his leg, not as damaged as it was from the fall and the quick escape before the wave of destruction from the Death Star utterly decimated the Citadel Tower and half of Scarif with it.

 

He runs a hand through his damp hair, finally pulls the shirt off his hands and drops it on the bed, holds his hands out for her.

 

Squeezing her hands to fists until they stop shaking, Jyn crosses the room at his wordless invitation, places her palms on his. When he curves his fingers around hers, she strokes her thumbs gently over his nails, frown deepening at the spots in his nail beds, which are much darker than they were the day before as they slowly heal, “ _Cassian_.”

 

Before she can finish what she’s trying to say, or even figure out what she wants to say to that, Cassian tugs her to him, drops one of her hands so he can wrap his arm around her back, “I’m getting better,” he says as she wraps her arms around his back, feels the way his ribs poke out against her chest, which clearly indicates otherwise. “Now that I’m here and I’m safe.”

 

“And how long are you going to let yourself stay that way?” She grumbles, dropping his other hand so she can grab the familiar warmth of the kyber crystal hanging around his neck.

 

“What do you want me to do?” He asks, light, like they’re talking about the food she brought in and not how she doesn’t want him to leave her again, to go back undercover and finish weeding out the remains of the Empire influence from the fringes of the galaxy.

 

Heart heavy, she sighs, slumps harder against him, even though she knows he probably shouldn’t be trying to shoulder her weight along with his, “You know what I want.”

 

They’ve talked about this before, about what they’d do once the war was over.

 

It’s never been her favorite conversation.

 

Especially not when they couldn’t agree on an accurate definition of what it would _mean_ for the war to be over.

 

“That’s why I can’t ask,” she mutters. “I promised you once that I wouldn’t do that to you, and I still stand by that.”

 

He pulls her tighter against him, strokes his hand up and down her back, palm broad and warm through the thin fabric of her shirt, “But if I did want to stay?”

 

Squeezing her eyes shut, she shakes her head against his collarbone, “No, Cassian,” she rasps, throat tight. “Not if you don’t actually want it. Don’t just stay for me. I figured it out once and I’ll do it again. You don’t have put me in the center of your decision. I don’t want that for you.”

 

Cassian sits on the edge of the bed with a grunt that’s colored with some pain, but when Jyn tries to pull away and check the cause, he tugs her back in and pulls her to his lap. It takes some shifting before she feels like she’s not going to fall of bend over backwards even with his arm banded around her waist, and she ends up on bent knees as she straddles his lap, arms curled around his neck and face pressed into the side of his, so she doesn’t have to see the state of his back.

 

“I don’t know if I know what I want to do. Give me time?”

 

She nods against his throat, tightens her arms around his shoulders, “Just _tell_ me,” she murmurs. “When you figure it out, just tell me.”

 

—

It’s a week before they have a chance to see Leia again, join her for that dinner she mentioned to Jyn the day she unceremoniously dumped Cassian in front of the orphanage with little more than the clothes on his back.

 

And the news of his not-death hasn’t spread far, if Han is any indication.

 

He takes one look at Cassian standing on his front porch, Jyn on one side and Yanna by his hip—where she’s glued herself to in recent days, which makes Jyn both happy and incredibly nervous—and he shakes his head, “Damn spooks,” he grumbles, clapping him on the shoulder as he lets them into the house. “Just get in here.”

 

“ _Smugglers_ ,” Cassian snorts back, sees Jyn stifle a cackle as Yanna runs ahead of them, calling for Auntie Leia like she’s not one of the most terrifying military leaders the galaxy has ever seen.

 

Jyn taps her fist to Han’s shoulder, “Good to see you too, Solo.”

 

“Shut up, Erso. You should have called.”

 

“And miss out on the look on your face? Hells no.”

 

They turn to the living room, where Yanna has climbed up the side of the couch and perches on her knees next to Leia’s hip, chattering about the still soon-to-be born baby.

 

Stomping into the center of the room with his hands on his hips, Han looks at his wife, and then points at Cassian, “Did you know about this?”

 

Patting Yanna on the cheek, Leia grabs her hand and places it on the side of her stomach, where the baby must be active, before she looks at them, “Cassian,” she says around a slight wince that’s probably from the soon-to-be-born. “You look much less skeletal since I last saw you.”

 

It’s not a surprise, seeing as Maré hands him a plate of food just about every chance she gets.

 

He’s not sure he’s _ever_ eaten this good in his life.

 

“Hi Princess.”

 

She rolls her eyes, and he probably shouldn’t needle her while she’s pregnant, but like it was when she was just a kid, it’s so _easy_ , “Oh, just sit,” she grumbles. “Either of you drinking?”

 

Cassian does as ordered and drops to one side of the cushioned window seat, and Han presses a bottle of ale into his hand before he has the chance to respond, “How are you feeling?”

 

“ _So_ pregnant. I’m uncomfortable _all_ the time, I always have to pee, and haven’t slept a full night in a month,” Leia sighs, looks at Jyn. “Never do this. I fully endorse your decision to adopt.”

 

Jyn snorts, snags Cassian’s bottle of ale before she sits down next to him, her knee brushing the side of his thigh, and she takes a long sip before she passes it back. Cassian ducks his head so he doesn’t have to respond to the look Leia sends him as Jyn responds with a sardonic, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

When Yanna finally finishes chattering, mostly distracted by the game the baby is playing of trying to press his limbs through Leia’s side, Jyn clears her throat, brow arching toward her hairline, “So,” she says, clipped. “Draven.”

 

She’s asking what probably needs not to be asked, but also definitely needs to be asked, because Cassian _knows_ she really wants Leia’s answer to be that she’s exiled him to the Unknown Regions.

 

“After a dedicated tenure of service to the Republic, he has tendered his resignation and is retiring to Pendarr III.”

 

Her words are so simple, so diplomatic, but are really anything but.

 

Cassian nods his head once, toys with the edge of the label on the bottle in his hands and resolutely looks down at it, rather than anyone else in the room, “Good. He deserves it.”

 

He knows it’s on the tip of Jyn’s tongue to snap that Draven _certainly does not_ , especially not after all he’s done to _them_ specifically, but he also knows that it’s a wordless look from Leia that shuts her up, and she just makes that familiar, wordless _humpf_ in the back of her throat the only response she’s going to have on the matter.

 

She made that sound a _lot_ , regarding Draven especially, back when they were at war, and he understands how much she _hates_ shutting her thoughts about him away—the epic arguments in the privacy of their quarters following mission briefings or debriefings come to mind—but also appreciates that they’re not going to go down that road today.

 

One day, they will, but this is a good day.

 

They don’t have to spend it arguing semantics, even if it _was_ Draven who single-handedly stole five years of their life and stepped all over it.

 

Cassian reaches out, touches his fingertips to the small of her back, and smirks when Han grumbles under his breath about _Erso going soft_ when her shoulders slump a little in his direction.

 

“I can still kick your ass, Solo,” Jyn snorts, and Han grumbles at her before heaving off the couch under the pretense of checking on whatever he’s making for dinner.

 

Han Solo, mediocre intergalactic smuggler, incredibly reluctant war hero, and half-decent chef, who knew?

 

With a roll of her eyes, Leia shifts again, groans and shoves one of her hands between the couch cushions and her lower back in what must be a vain attempt to adjust the pillows she’s lying on so they’re more comfortable, “So, Cassian,” she grunts. “Have you thought at all about what you’ll do next?”

 

“Subtle,” Jyn snorts, sweeps her hand over Cassian’s shoulder before she shifts off the window seat, grabs Yanna off the couch with an arm around her middle. “Come on, Kid. Let’s go see what Uncle Han is cooking up while those two talk about boring work things.”

 

Yanna tries to protest, to squirm back to Leia, but Jyn pokes her in the side until she giggles, and the sound passes through Cassian, eases some of the tension in his shoulders a little, though he’s not sure _how_ that works.

 

“But I _want_ to talk about boring work things too!”

 

Jyn snorts, and as she walks away, he hears her say, “ _Absolutely not_.”

 

They lived through a war, they sacrificed most of their lives so children like Yanna will never have to.

 

He watches Jyn’s back until she turns the corner and disappears down another wide hallway, and when he looks back at Leia, he finds her watching him, contemplative and more than a little amused, “What?” He shrugs. “It’s been five years, what do you expect?”

 

That contemplative look bleeds into a smirk, “I never know what to expect with you two.”

 

“We can’t all be screaming at one another in the middle of Echo Base. Force forbid we steal your thunder.”

 

Leia rolls her eyes, “Yeah, whatever.”

 

“So,” Cassian prompts after a minute where Leia doesn’t say anything, just looks at him through narrowed eyes and he does his best not to squirm. “What did you want to discuss?”

 

“We’re filling a position within the New Republic government that you might be interested in, the Director of Internal Security.”

 

At her completely even tone, Cassian’s brows tick up toward his hairline, “And how long has this position been open?”

 

“If you _must_ know, a few months.”

 

Cassian tilts his head and takes her in, but Leia’s gotten much better at keeping up the bland mask she uses when dealing with other politicians—not that she was ever a bad liar, going toe to toe with Vader and Tarkin at just nineteen, not even flinching when faced with torture for the location of the Death Star plans they stole—but especially now that she’s back in the thick of it with the New Republic.

 

Either way, it probably doesn’t matter if she’s lying to him or not.

 

“And what would this position entail?”

 

“We find ourselves in need of someone to coordinate with the heads of security for the Chancellor and cabinet, which as you know, includes your favorite Minister of Defense,” she smirks, and Cassian shakes his head, as fond of the spy he helped train as he’s ever been.

 

“The position would report directly to me, and also potentially—depending on the candidate—do some consulting with both the Defense Force and the Academy, specifically concerning risk assessment. Of course,” she goes on, leveling a patient, pointed look at him. “You’re more than welcome to return to your intelligence work, if that’s what you’d like. But I wanted to give you another viable option. You’ve been fighting for nearly three decades, it might be a good time to take a change of pace.”

 

“Can I think about it?”

 

“Take your time. You know where to find me,” she pats her belly. “Especially now. I’m not about to go gallivanting across the galaxy for a good, long time. No one can make me.”

 

“You deserve the break.”

 

Leia tilts her head, smile turning into a half-smirk, “So do you.”

 

—

Leia’s words rattle around in his mind all through dinner, so it’s a good thing no one’s surprised that he lets Han and Yanna dominate the conversation—she wants to know when the big puppy’s coming to visit, and Han keeps recording holos of her asking that question to send to Chewbacca, who is off on Bespin doing a favor for Lando now that his best friend is planet-locked until his son is born.

 

They don’t stay for too long after they finish eating—for all that Yanna has nearly boundless energy, she still gets tired like any other toddler, curling up on his lap once she’s gotten her fill of harassing _Uncle Han_.

 

And not to mention Leia, who almost falls asleep in her after-dinner tea.

 

Once they bid their goodnights, Jyn holds her hand out, and Cassian shifts Yanna’s sleeping body against his chest so he can take it, “Ready to go home?” She asks, tugging on his fingers as they meander down the expansive front lawn toward the speeder.

 

He is.

 

They get back to the orphanage and tuck Yanna into bed—she has a room of her own that’s down the hall from Jyn’s, but not too far away from the rest of the littles. Tucking a child into bed isn’t something Cassian has a lot of experience with, but it’s mostly just him settling Yanna under the covers and slipping out of the room while Jyn sprawls out next to her and soothes her back to sleep with a hand on her back.

 

While he waits, he changes into a pair of borrowed pajamas and slides into what’s quickly become _his side_ of the bed, and the fact that he _has_ a side of a bed, one that’s as big a bed as he’s ever slept in, is so heartbreakingly domestic in a way he’s never let himself think about, not since he was a boy on Fest, not since the riots that took his family.

 

And now that he has it—he knows it’s something he wants to _keep_.

 

Something he _can_ , if he lets himself want it enough.

 

The bedding shifts, and Cassian looks up from the datapad he’s aimlessly surfing through, flicking through the breaking stories on the holonet with halfhearted interest—he’s missed out on so much that the that is news either has very little impact because he already knows it, or because he’s so beyond on context. By his feet, one of the many Tooka’s is next to the lump that is his right foot, and it sniffs and bats at it with an inquisitive paw.

 

He twitches his foot, and the cat—gray and white with little splotches of black on its ears—pounces, wrapping its limbs around it as best he can, and Cassian feels the blunted points of its teeth try to dig into his big toe through the thick comforter. The synthetic neurons in his prosthetic leg feel slightly different from the impressions on his other foot, but it’s been so long it’s hard to tell unless he’s really focusing on the sensations.

 

The bedroom door creaks open and another Tooka, this one yellow with vibrant purple streaks trailing down its flank, sneaks in through the narrow gap and makes a beeline for the bed, hops up to get in on the action. They roll around, fighting for dominance of his foot, before they get tangled around one another and roll to the open side of the bed in a flurry of fur and claws and playful growling.

 

“Having fun?”

 

Cassian looks away, finds Jyn leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed slowly over her chest, a fond smile playing around her lips, and he shrugs one shoulder, “I’ve never had a pet before.”

 

“Oh? Then what was Kay?”

 

“You know what he was,” he shoots back and Jyn laughs.

 

It’s nice to be able to think about the good parts of their shared past, of things like Kay, who would have _hated_ to be surrounded by so many children, but would have stayed with Jyn because he asked it to, that one time, before the mission no one was supposed to survive.

 

Jyn hums as she pushes off the doorframe and pads into the room, “I miss him too,” she says, reaching over the still playing cats to pat his foot before she heads into her bathroom to change.

 

 _So_ domestic.

 

He almost doesn’t know what to do with himself.

 

Still easily tired and hurting a little—for good reason, he barely remembers what it was like after Scarif, to recover so slowly—Cassian feels himself start to drift off as he waits for Jyn. Lying on his stomach with his eyes half open, even if one is half mashed into the pillow, he watches her step out of the bathroom, hair brushes and curling over her shoulders as she goes for the light switch. He has to blink a couple times to adjust to the dark and feels more than sees her slide into bed next to him.

 

Her hand on his shoulder is light and a little damp, and a shiver runs down his spine as she blindly feels for the collar of his shirt and the leather string hanging around his neck. He can barely bring himself to move as she runs her fingertips against the leather, up and down a couple times before her hand settles against his skin, “D’you want it back?” He asks into the pillow, words slurring together as sleep grabs hold of his mind, and he blinks a couple times to try to fight it, but her hand is so warm against his skin and the bed is soft and comfortable and he just wants to sink into it and never move again.

 

Jyn’s hum slowly seeps into his mind, and when she shifts, she disrupts the cats, who grumble and hiss at her before relocating to the floor to continue their play-fighting against the hardwood, “I don’t know,” she murmurs, thumb making little circles against his neck now, soft and careful enough that he loses all feeling in his lower spine. “I was lost for so long without _you_ , that by the time I could manage again, I realized I didn’t miss it as much. And I think it helped me to know that it was with you, even if you were-”

 

She cuts off, doesn’t need to finish that sentence.

 

“It’s still yours,” he murmurs around the pain in his chest that spikes at the thought of Jyn having to navigate life in the Rebellion, life in the New Republic they fought so hard for, without him.

 

That had been one of the few comforts he took with his decision to go deep undercover for Draven—Jyn was gone, but it meant she wouldn’t be with the Rebellion and without him.

 

And it was all a life.

 

Still fighting his exhaustion, Cassian shifts off his stomach and onto his side, mirroring her. Jyn hand slips to the kyber crystal, and she runs her thumb against the long-worn impressions on one side. “I want you more than I want it back,” she clears her throat, taps her knuckles against his collar. “That’s still not me asking, though.”

 

“Jyn,” he says on a sigh, lifts one hand to the cord and pulls it over his head.

 

She’s still holding it, and he wraps his fingers tight around her hand, lets the leather fall against the delicate, scarred skin of her narrow wrist, “You can ask,” he says around the tightening in his throat, pulls her hand up and presses his mouth to her knuckles, holds it there. “If you wanted to.”

 

Using the hand wrapped around hers, Jyn reels him in, kisses him soft and slow, brushes her tongue against the curve of his lower lip once, and he chases her when she pulls back, “I want you to stay with me,” she murmurs around another kiss. “But what will you do?”

 

“Well first, I’d very much like to kiss you again.”

 

And he does.

 

He’ll tell her about Leia’s job offer, and that he’s going to accept it, in the morning.

 

They have time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you loved it!
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 222 
> 
> “Have some bread.” 
> 
> “I don’t eat bread, it’s usually poisoned.” 
> 
> “If this is some gluten-free nonsense-“ 
> 
> “No, actual poison.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I was sitting on the first few scenes of this one for a while, and then I got a little distracted by all the Damerey I was inspired to write after seeing TLJ, and then this happened, and then when I finished it I decided I was going to chop it in half. 
> 
> Conclusion will be up in the next day or two!
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 216  
> “It’s been so long. I’m probably not interested in him anymore.” 
> 
> “I’ve seen his Instagram, you’re definitely still interested.”


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